Ashes to Ashes
by snfsylva
Summary: Set in the post apocalyptic remains of Vancouver, Ashes to Ashes epitomizes the struggle of personal ambition against the lifelong loyalties of freinds, family, and faction. Follow the tragic story of Janus in this Macbeth typology set in the unforgivable and unforgettable backdrop of the Fallout world.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**_

 _Well, just recently got back into FanFiction. Since my last run at writing here, I've been participating in a roleplaying sight, . Very fascinating. I'll be sure to post some of the stuff I've written from there onto here when I get the chance. In the meantime, please enjoy reading this unfinished, and largely unedited draft of a story I meant to post a long time ago and, just, well, never got around to it. If it makes you question whether or not I am even fit to write, well, I don't blame you. But then again – every author hates his own work._

 _Set in the post-apocalyptic remains of Vancouver, Ashes to Ashes epitomizes the struggle of personal ambition against the lifelong loyalties of friends, family, and faction. Follow the tragic story of Janus in this Macbeth typology set in the unforgiving and unforgettable backdrop of the Fallout world._

 **CHAPTER I**

MksThe sun was rising over the distant horizon when the patrol finally reached it's destination. The darkened, broken hulks of the metropolis' skyscrapers was silhouetted against it, casting an ominous shadow over the frozen streets of the city, in which the contingent of men sulked. They moved as a unit, methodically, almost robotically, checking each other's corners as they neared the enemy camp. They kept close to the grey concrete walls of the buildings, which themselves were in an essence apocalyptic, with bullet hulls, blood stains, and meaningless tribal graffiti covering every inch of them. It was a despondent setting, but for Janus the urban ruins of the Van, and more specifically the island town of Stanley, were home. A home that had recently come under threat by a group of raiders from the north, called the Blazers. Named for their obsession with energy weapons and fire, the Blazers were the largest threat faced by the Stans in the latter part of the 22nd century. But today, that was going to change.

"Hold up," Janus instructed, and his men obeyed, keeping their eyes peeled and their rifles at the ready.

"What is it, Janus?" Jacob's co-commander, Strabo, asked as he slowly crouch-walked towards his lifelong friend. Janus had taken out his binoculars and was peering past the edge of the building and into the adjacent street that ran perpendicular to the one his men were lined up in. "Dozen guards," he said. "Looks like a patrol. Laser pistols, couple Recharger rifles plus a Flamer." The Blazers were obviously expecting an attack from the Stans, and had heightened up patrols in their captured sections of the Van.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Strabo said, taking a step forward into the street only to be pulled back by Janus. "They won't," he corrected, "but the noise we will create will attract every Blazer from here to the waterfront. And that _would_ be a problem."

Strabo sighed. "You have a point. So what's the plan?"

He pointed to the manhole five feet behind him.

"You can't be serious..."

Janus waved him off. "Don't worry; you won't be going in the sewers, I will. I'll take a fourth of our number with me, and try and sneak past. You keep the rest of the men here, and distract that patrol. With any luck they'll call for reinforcements, leaving the Stadium open for assault."

The abandoned hockey stadium in the city was the Blazers' main base of operations, converted from a ruin to a massive fortress of concrete and rebar. It was an easily defensible position, with only four natural entrances - three of which had been blocked off by the Blazers when they had first inhabited the building in the spring of the last year.

"So...we're the bait?" Strabo asked.

"No. Your the distraction."

"Yes, exactly. The bait."

"Wanna switch jobs?" Janus asked. "If the freezing, molerat-filled sewers of the Van appeal to you..."

"Alright, alright," Strabo said, conceding defeat. "But I keep the minigun, and the snipers."

"Agreed," Janus replied, nodding to some of his men, who joined Strabo's contingent. That left a bit left than two dozen in Janus' company. "It's not like sniper rifles are great for use in a sewer anyway."

"Give us ten minutes in the sewers before you start firing, alright? Ten minutes."

"Okay, ten minutes. Good luck, Janus."

"You'll need it more than me."

Janus slid off the cover and climbed down the rusted ladder, landing with a splash in the freezing water below, which came up to his ankles. Goosebumps immediately popped up all over his skin, and he shivered as he exhaled, watching his breath in the frozen subterranean air. He shuffled forwards to make room for the rest of his men, blowing air into his hands as he tried to warm them. He had a pair of cut out socks on his forearms that came down to his hands, and while it helped keep his arms warm it did absolutely nothing to comfort his frostbitten fingers.

"Cold as hell down here," Janus noted to his men, stating the obvious. He checked his Pip-Boy, and the thermometer read a chilling -15 degrees Fahrenheit. Janus whistled, partly in shock, partly in acceptance. That was damn cold, even for the Van. He turned on his Pip-Boy light, and slung his carbine, favoring instead his .45 pistol, on which he attached a suppresser. His carbine was a pre-war weapon he had found in the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, a semi-automatic, scoped one that took 5.56 mm ammunition. He had found it packed quite a punch, and what it lacked in rate of fire it made up for in accuracy and sheer stopping power. His .45 was less of a rare find, and wasn't in the best of condition, but it worked.

Janus led the way in the sewers, his pip-boy light illuminating their path. His Pip-Boy was uploaded with maps of the Van, including it's sewers, by default, and for that he was thankful. The wrist-worn Personal Information Processor (Pip-Boy) had more than made up for it's price in caps since he had bought it a few years back from a Seattle merchant, and the maps of the British Colombia/Oregon area had proven extremely helpful. These sewers were like a labyrinth. It was relatively silent save the splash of their boots in the water and the dripping condensation from the ceiling. Or so, he thought. A rumble shook the tunnels, and Janus immediately looked upwards, and listened.

The faint cracks of gunfire, mixed with the sounds of energy weapons discharging. "We've got to hurry," he instructed his men. "Strabo has begun his attack."

The men double timed it, relying on Janus' Pip-Boy for guidance. No one questioned if he knew the way - they were too loyal for that. He had grown up by these guys, and all of them were essentially blood brothers. They would have followed him anywhere and everywhere. Though part of it was probably that he had the map.

Janus was running now, and could feel himself wearing out in the cold, damp, sewers. Running underground, where the air was humid and chilled, it almost hurt to breath. It was extremely tiring, almost to the point of exhaustion -

The pain shot through his leg, and he cursed as he fell to one knee in the water. A gunshot rang out a moment later, than another, blowing the head off the mutated insect. "Fucking hell," he cursed, shaking his leg, trying to get the pain go away. Radroach bites weren't particularly fatal, but the diseases they carried and the high possibility of infection made them a serious problem. When this was over, he would have to see the town's doctor right away. Furthermore, the bite was in his ankle; the cold water lapsing on it made it sting even more, and we began jogging with a slight limp as the foot began to go numb.

"Here it is," he said, double-checking his Pip-Boy and pointing to the ladder up ahead. He took hold of the cold, rusted metal bars first, testing their strength, before hauling himself up. "One at a time," he ordered. "We don't know how many of these bastards decided to stay home."

He climbed the ladder two rungs at a time, in a hurry to get off just in case it did decide to give out. Reaching the top he carefully removed the pothole's cover, sticking just his head out into the street, and gazed around. There was an abandoned Nuka Cola truck between him and the Stadium, thank god. Perfect for hiding his men as they got out of the manhole. One by one, the two-dozen followers climbed out, each assisted by the one before him. "Okay," he said. "This is it. We get in there, and we kill every last one of them."

Janus peeped his head around the corner of the Nuka Cola truck. Ahead, six guards armed with laser rifles stood watch over the main entrance, which was a mosaic of wasteland materials adorned with spikes, heads on stakes, barrels of fire, and a rather well-designed gate system. Janus motioned for half of his men to go right and told the rest to follow him. He sprinted into the open before sliding into cover behind some pulverized concrete and rebar, unslinging his carbine and sighting in. His target wore a metal motorcycle helmet, and so he loaded an armor-piercing round at the top of his clip before sighting in again, holding his breath, and pulling the trigger.

A sharp crack echoed through the street and Janus watched with satisfaction as his target flew backwards. His bullet had missed his original target, and instead of piercing the helmet the round had tore into his chest, but the result was all the same. His target dropped to the ground, landing in a pool of his own blood. The other guards unslung their weapons and began looking for the culprit - to which a hailstorm of lead from Janus' compatriots answered their quest.

The enemy guards attempted to flee, but their friends inside of the stadium had already shut the massive metal gate. Instead they simply dropped their weapons and ran. The ramparts surrounding the entrance came alive with angry Blazers as they tried to defend their fortress. It was a battle of lasers versus lead, and the gun-trotting Stans had the edge. The accurate marksmen, armed with trail carbines and brush guns, fired round after deadly round, covering the advance of the main force, which was armed mainly with shotguns and SMGs, for use in close range.

"Get the C-4," Janus yelled over the gunfire, as he reloaded his carbine. One of his men slung a backpack full of plastic explosive towards the gate, and hit the detonator. The explosion knocked Janus off his feet and blew the air from his lungs. His ears rang like bells as he groaned in pain of being to close to the explosion. But the gate was gone - and thankfully, he was unhurt. Janus rolled over and was helped up by his men, just in time to see an adjoining wall of the fortification fall to the ground, trapping two Blazers underneath.

The Stans rushed through the debris of the once-impressive bastion, and into the stadium itself. Janus had never been inside the Stadium, and was rather shocked to see what the Blazers had done to the interior. Small huts had been created in the stands, surrounding a central tent that had the faded U.S. Air Force logo on all sides. In front of the tent a large truck lay, apparently refurbished by their owners. This had all been constructed within the grounds, within the safety of the Stadium's concrete shell which surrounded the village on all sides, including vertically. But no Blazers were to be found. "Keep your eyes peeled," he instructed. Janus approached the central tent, nervously fingering his carbine.

He threw open the tent's flap, and was not prepared for what he saw. A large computer processor lay in the center, surrounded by terminals and electronic equipment that looked military in nature and rather fragile. Electrical wiring covered the floor to the point where Janus had to watch his step to not trip over them. The gentle hum of two generators in the back of the tent, which was about 25 by 25 meters in size, gave the entire scene one of even more complexity and contributed greatly to the scientific feel it had.

Janus approached what he guessed was the central console, out of curiosity, and looked at the display. In bright blue pixelated letters, he read:

U.S. AIR FORCE – COMMISSARY AI PROTOTYPE "HOLIDAY"

TYPE YOUR NAME TO BEGIN.

 _What the heck?_ He thought. He hesitated, then pressed the central key. He stepped back as the machine hummed with electricity. The generators in the back began whirling in protest to keep up with the demand for power. Sparks flew from somewhere in the right side of the room, and then the entire tent went dark. Only the blue computer screen was alight.

/ .HOLIDAY .JANUS

/ Hello, Janus.

The underscore symbol was blinking, which Janus recognized as asking him to type. He was bewildered at how this computer could know his name, but even more curious.

How do you know my name?

He typed, hesitated, and pressed Enter. He thought for a second the machine was broken when suddenly a reply appeared on the screen.

/ Because I know everything.

What do you know? And what are you?

/ As for me, well, I am an artificial intelligence. And I know that your friend and compatriot Strabo has been victorious. The 'Blazers,' as you call them, are in full retreat. And that your wife fears you are dead.

And how could you possibly know that?

/ In time, I will tell you. But first I have something very important I need you to do for me.

Why would I help you?

/ Because I can return the favor. I can make you the most powerful man in the Oregon territory.

user_janus_1.23.2277 How?

user_holiday_1.23.2277 With the location of the greatest weapon ever created. Something that was designed to end all wars, by destroying the enemy's ability to wage it. It has been preserved, and protected, all these years, by an underground vault, safe from the nuclear fire that scorched the earth two hundred years ago.

user_janus_1.23.2277 And what is the favor?

user_holiday_1.23.2277 Download this server's database into your personal information processor. And hurry. Time is of the essence.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II**

Janus took a step back, puzzled. His curiosity was getting the best of him, he realized. Or was it? The promises it made...Vault 89...technology...power. It couldn't hurt, could it? To find the Vault? He could make the Stans the most powerful tribe in The Van. They would venerate him. They would love him. They would _follow_ him.

user_janus_1.23.2277 Fair enough.

He did as he was told, taking the USB coil and attaching it into the terminal. He looked at his Pip-Boy screen, which was shimmering with the influx of data. The massive terminal in the center of the room was literally shaking as it copied it's information onto his device, and sparks were flying from the generators. Janus feared for his own safety as the place seemed to destroy itself. But in a minute it was all over. He looked down at his Pip-Boy, which had switched colors from green to the same shade of light blue that had been on the computer screen. Interesting, he thought.

"Hey, Janus, everything okay?" A voice came from outside. It was Strabo, definitely. "Seems you shook some shit up in there."

"Na, it's fine," he said. He considered telling Strabo about the computer, about the Vault, but decided against it. Instead, he did something he wasn't accustomed to. He lied. "The Blazers had some sort of recharge station in here, for their weapons," he said, "But I tried to use it and it pretty much self-destructed."

Strabo walked in to the tent, and whistled. "Holy shit, Janus. Remind me never to let you touch my stuff."

He laughed, and turned to face his friend, walking out of the tent. Outside his men had assembled a pile of weapons and other valuables that they were going to take back to Stanley. A group of a dozen prisoners lay hog tied nearby, under guard by a quartet of heavily-armed Stans. His men were still looking for anything of use that they could bring back to Stanley. Janus considered destroying the stadium, but he doubted they had enough explosives, and those they did "Load up all the loot on that truck," he ordered, and his men immediately followed his command. "What did we get?"

"Twenty-three laser rifles," the self-proclaimed Quartermaster told him, "Ten plasma rifles, five Flamers, and almost fifty plasma and laser pistols. We also found a plasma caster and a box of grenades, as well as thousands of microfusion and energy cells, three full sets of combat armor...We haven't had a loot like this in ages, Janus. It's good. Very good."

"Imagine the look on the Provost's face when he sees this," Strabo said, shaking his head. The Provost was the official leader of Stanley. He had formed the community, led the community, and the sole executive of the community. He was nearly two-hundred years old, and had been around since before the Great War. The radiation that had killed so many others had actually saved him - though his skin and hair was peeling, and his voice coarse, the radiation had kept him alive for all this time. He had a name, Janus was sure, but he went by the Provost. "We'll be on his good side for sure."

The drive through back to Stanley was a long one, having to drive slow as so their escorts (on foot) could stay close. They weren't going to risk loosing all this gear that they had fought so hard to obtain to some opportunistic raiders waiting along the roads. When they did arrive at the causeway leading to Stanley, the two gatekeepers looked on in awe. Even Janus had to admit, hauling with them a truck full of captured weapons, surrounded by rifle-bearing troopers, they were an impressive sight. Stanley's main gate was built from scavenged metal, which was attached to a horizontal pulley system that could open and close the gate with ease. Around the entire length of the city's limits, cars had been piled up to from walls, and behind them wooden ramparts and scaffolds allowed for guards to walk it's length. The town itself was rather beautiful as compared to many wasteland towns. Stanley had originally been a wooded area just outside of downtown Vancouver, and they had used the trees to build log houses, which were fortified with scavenged metal. At the center of the city lay the Municipal House, a large three-story building that served as the head of Stanley's government, and in front of it the city square, were merchants commonly set up tents to barter.

As the truck rolled down the main road, and into the square, citizens of Stanley came out of their huts and cheered. Janus pulled the vehicle to a stop in front of the main square and opened the door, only to be surrounded by children as they rushed to greet him. He smiled and let them do their thing, looking into the forming crowd for the one person he wanted to see more than anyone. His eyes scanned the populace, before laying rest on a black-haired woman with a slightly freckled face. "Katrina!" He yelled over the noise. "Katrina, over here!"

He dispersed the children and ran to her, despite the pain in his ankle, just as she noticed his arrival. His wife sprinted to meet him, and she crashed into Janus' open arms, pressing herself against his chest. He embraced her and held her close, kissing her head before simply pressing his against hers. "I was so worried about you," she said, fighting back tears. "I thought...I thought you lost forever."

"I'm here, I'm here, he assured her, rocking Katrina in his arms. Only then did it occur to him that the computer had been correct. How did it know? he thought, still holding his wife close. How...is it possible?

"Now, now," a rough but compassionate voice said, from the direction of Municipal House. He turned to see the Provost walking towards him and his men. The Provost wore a faded, patchwork jumpsuit, with an assault rifle slung across his back and a decorative sword at his hip. An officer's cap from a country no longer in existence covered his balding head. "Janus. Strabo. I trust you were successful in you exploits?"

"Yes, sir." Janus replied. "We have attacked and destroyed the Blazer's base of operations. Any that were not killed are scattered, and will not present any more threats to Stanley. In addition we recovered hundreds of weapons and valuables from the Stadium to add to our arsenal."

"Our heroes, then, indeed," The Provost said. "Tonight," he said, his voice roaring across the square. "We will celebrate the victory. I believe a feast is in order!" Unanimous cheering rang through the city. It was to be a fantastic night indeed.

==Later kinda==

Janus' home was one he had built with his own hands. It was a two room home, with just a bedroom and a kitchen/dining area, but he was proud of it. The wood and metal structure kept them warm, comfortable, and secure. He couldn't have asked for anything more. "Promise me you will never go out like that again," Katrina told him, as she brought a bowl of warm stew. Janus was just in the process of taking his boot off his foot, and sighed in pain when it came off, revealing a nasty wound that had swollen considerably. "You know I can't promise that, babe. It's my job. I have to go out, to protect Stanley. To protect you," he said. Janus retrieved his knife from his pack, and brought his foot closer, cutting out a few black blisters that had formed after wearing his boots for a week straight.

"Yes, but...there has to be another way. Look what happened to you,"" she said, "You've probably contracted Chag's or something!"

He shivered at the thought. Chag's Disease was a virus that attacked the host's mind, slowly eating away at their brains and muscles until they were so weak, frail, and in some cases insane that they usually succumbed to other diseases. It had evolved from an autoimmune disease that was present in society even before the Great War, but had mutated, according to most, because to the omnipresent radiation. It could be passed from host to victim in almost any way possible - sexually, from insect bites, coughing, and even from dirty water.

"Well, I haven't gone crazy. Your probably safe."

"That's not my point," she corrected him.

Janus sighed. "I guess I see where your coming from."

Her expression changed into one of sympathy as she walked over to the bed and sat down next to Janus, leaning up against him. "I know it's your life. But in marrying me, you made your life my life. I...I don't know what I'd do without you, Janus, and...I mean, it's just..." Janus interrupted her by planting a deep kiss on her lips, which she readily accepted, and adjusted her position to sit on his lap. Janus leaned back, and turned her over, kissing her neck as she fumbled with his belt and pants. Their hands fought eachother as they fumbled around bodies neither of them had felt in weeks but were so desperate to rediscover...

...two hours later, Janus awoke, naked, next to his wife. She had curled up around him, either for warmth, or for intimacy, or maybe both. Either way, when Janus looked at his Pip-Boy, which laid on the bedstand, the clock read 20:22. He had less than half an hour before he was supposed to be at the feast. He would have been perfectly content with staying home, with Katrina, but with the importance of the event, not to mention that it was being thrown in honor of him and Strabo's exploits, he felt like attendance was mandatory.

"Hey, honey." His wife said, stirred awake by her husband's movements. "Is it that time?"

"Yep," he said, cracking his back and moaning because of the relief it brought. He picked his reinforced leather clothes off the floor and smelled them. No, he couldn't go to the feast in that. Instead he put on a thermal shirt (his only spare), some black denim jeans, and because of the weather threw on a thick black longcoat over it all. He then affixed his beret (given to all members of Stanley's militia) and affixed his a leg holster for his .45 Auto. He wouldn't need it, but members of the militia were required to be armed at all times, just in case.

Katrina picked one of her dresses, one that pre-war would have been semi-formal, but now it was, like all their clothes, patchwork. Nonetheless, Janus complimented her on their way out the door. "You look great, honey. Now c'mon, before they start a witch hunt for us or something."

She smiled and took his arm, and the two walked out into the torchlit streets, as music pervaded through the night. Already in the main square the town's populace was gathered, dancing, drinking, and eating as the stores were opened up and food spilled forth. He privately hoped the feast wouldn't be too taxing on their grain and food reserves - winter was bad enough, and the harvest hadn't been great in any sense of the word. But tonight, he reminded himself, wasn't about worrying for the future. It was about celebrating the past.

"Janus! My man," Strabo said, clearly already a bit woozy. "Come over here! Have a drink!"

"In a minute, Strabo, in a minute." Quickly his friend lost interest, and instead focused on one of the two beautiful ladies at his side, who were clearly even more tipsy than him. Knowing Strabo, Janus guessed he would take one - or both - home tonight. Katrina ran off to see her own friends, and Janus found himself awkwardly alone. He shifted around, enjoying the music, downing a beer, and was eating what had to be the greatest steak in his life when he was interrupted. "Mind if I sit?" The Provost said, and Janus nearly choked. "I...of course, sir."

"No need for formalities here, Janus," he replied, taking a seat and sighing at the relief. "I just wanted to say how thankful we all are. Stanley is safe once again, thanks to you."

"It's my duty, sir."

"No, no," he said. "It wasn't. You know damn well that an offensive against the Blazers was risky. Your job was to defend our borders, and instead you went above and beyond, taking out the threat at it's source. Not to mention that brilliant stunt you pulled, splitting your forces. That diversion...nothing short of genius. A Hannibal, I tell you!"

"Excuse me...a Hannibal?" Janus asked, confused.

"Oh, that's right," the Provost said. "Reminds me sometimes just how old I am, remembering history like that. Anyway, Hannibal was an ancient military commander. He almost conquered the most powerful nation in history...they couldn't match him on the battlefield. He destroyed every single army they sent against him. He was a tactical genius, but unfortunately also a strategic flounder."

"How so?"

"He never marched on the enemy capital. While he could defeat any army, he couldn't exploit his victories. In the end, war is a game of strategy, not tactics. And when he tried his hand in politics, he got the same result - unfortunately being betrayed by those closest to him. A tragic end to a great story. I've learned a lot in these years, Janus, and built Stanley from the ground up..."

"What are you getting at?" he said, intrigued and fairly sure were the conversation was headed.

"Janus, I've been in this game a long while. But it's time I pass the stick to someone else."

Janus' heart raced as the Provost continued. "Your a fantastic leader, Janus. And an even better commander. Your faithful to your cause, to the death, and as a military tactician second to none. I wanted to thank you for all these years, Janus, and wish you the best. I'm sure you will serve my successor with the same vigor and loyalty as you did me."

Janus heart skipped a beat. Wait...what?

"Tonight I will announce the new leader of Stanley," he said. "My son, Mason, will take my place at the head of the town. He is a capable leader, but with much to learn. I have no doubt he will do a wonderful job as Stanley's administrator."

The Provost put his hand on Janus' back and stood up. "It has been an honor, Janus, truly. Semper fi,"

"Do or die," he reiterated, from the militia's oath of allegiance. "I...don't know what to say, sir. Thanks for all these years." His head was spinning, out of control. Everything was suddenly a blur. He had honestly thought that the Provost would pass the torch to him...and now...emotions span. Anger. Frustration. Confusion...everything he could feel at once. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at his plate. The steak he had thought was the best one ever now didn't appeal to him. He was simply too lost in his own mind to have an appetite.

"Attention, attention, please," The Provost said, through a microphone, some time later. A small wooden stage and podium in front of the Municipal House had been set up for him, so that everyone in the square could see. "Today, we celebrate the defeat of our mortal enemies, the Blazers."

The crowd went wild for a short minute, before the Provost held us his hand and all became silent once more. "But we also celebrate the men who made this happen. Without the efforts of our two fantastic military leaders, Strabo and Janus, none of this would have been possible. They have liberated this town of a great burden, and ended a great conflict, and I cannot express my thanks enough. To the Stanley Militia!" he said, holding up a glass of wine. He wouldn't drink it (it was impossible, with the deterioration of his organs), but the effect was all the same.

The crowd exploded into cheers once more, and once again the Provost was forced to silence them. Janus looked on, expressionless and dispassionate about the whole ordeal.

"However I have another announcement to make," he said. "I've been alive for two hundred years, and built this town fifty years ago. But it is time, I believe, as every leader must do, to pass the torch, to let a younger generation and it's ideas take ahold of our city. My son, Mason, will be taking over control of Stanley. The transition will be slow, and it will take a few weeks before I let go fully, but as of tonight, I am stepping down from my position."

Silence.

"I realize this is a big change. I promise you, I will see to it that it goes as smooth as possible. You shouldn't notice any change in your daily lives; Mason is a good man, and he will be a fantastic leader, I'm sure."

Mason came up onto the stage, and hugged his father. The crowd cheered, slowly, as they mimicked one another. Janus frowned, thinking. About the Pip-Boy. About the Computer. And most of all, about it's promise.

I WILL MAKE YOU THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE OREGON TERRITORY.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER III**

Janus walked out of the main square, alone, angry, and wondering about his next move. Katrina was probably at home by now anyway, which gave him some cover for leaving the festivities early. He brushed passed a number of people, most of whom were either to drunk or to preoccupied to care. They stumbled around aimlessly, laughing at anything and everything, and the only goal of most seemed to be looking for someone to take home. Janus hadn't drank much, not enough to make him tipsy, and to him it felt strange being the only sober person in a crowd of drunkards. He was just about to leave the square entirely when he ran into a member of the Provost's court. "Janus," he said, "Going home early?"

"What gives, Fitz?" he countered, annoyed. Fitzgerald was the Provost's chief advisor, and had never been fond of Janus, or the militia. He believed more in diplomacy, in negotiations...and seemed to often forget that as civilized as Stanley was, the rest of the world was still a wasteland. He pushed himself from leaning against a lamppost and stood face to face to Janus. "Just a bit suspicious, you know? Wandering the streets in deep thought, especially after the Provost's announcement and all..."

"Fuck off, Fitz. I mean, for god sakes, I'm the Captain of the Guard."

"Which makes my point all the more valid," he replied, staring at Janus, and flashing an in-your-face smirk. Janus frowned, feeling his blood boil, sliding his hand onto the grip of his pistol, and moving his longcoat so that Fitz could see. "You really want to do this?"

There was a tense moment where Janus thought he might draw; but sense prevailed in Fitzgerald, and he backed off. _A shame_ , Janus thought. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to threaten you...Captain." He almost spat the word, before laughing and taking his place leaning on the post.

The rest of the walk home was uneventful for Janus, and when he opened the door to his modest shack he couldn't help but notice the eerie blue glow emanating from his Pip-Boy. He picked it up, slowly, as if he was a child doing something wrong. Katrina was asleep in their bed, and he would have to be careful not to wake her. He slid the device onto his wrist after hanging up his coat, and immediately after a text box appeared.

HELLO JANUS. OBVIOUSLY, YOU ARE HERE TO ASK ME ABOUT ELIMINATING THE PROVOST?

/ELIMINATING?

YES. KILLING. MURDERING. SLAYING. PERHAPS MURDERING WAS A BETTER CHOICE OF WORDS.

/I'M NOT SURE IF I WANT TO DO THAT.

YOU WILL HAVE TO, EVENTUALLY, OR HIS HEIR WILL COME INTO THE PLAY.

/HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MASON?

ONCE MORE, JANUS, I KNOW EVERYTHING.

/YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION.

IN TIME, YOU SHALL SEE. NOW, ABOUT ELIMINATING THE PROVOST...WE MUST FIND THE VAULT FIRST. TAKE A GROUP OF YOUR MOST LOYAL MEN, THAT WILL NOT FALTER WHEN YOU ASK THEM TO FOLLOW YOU. THAN I SHALL GUIDE YOU AND YOUR GROUP TO THE VAULT. NEXT AFTERNOON WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE.

/WHY THE HURRY?

THEIR IS ANOTHER A GROUP SEARCHING FOR IT. AND THEY ARE CLOSE. THEY ARE HEAVILY ARMED, WELL TRAINED, AND SUPERBLY ORGANIZED. THEY CALL THEMSELVES "THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL," AND ARE OBSESSED WITH HOARDING PRE-WAR TECHNOLOGY. IF THEY FIND THE VAULT, IT'S CONTENTS WILL BE LOST TO US. AND BASED ON THEIR HISTORY WITH THOSE THAT OPPOSE THEM, ANY HOPE OF SOLIDIFYING YOUR POSITION AFTER THE PROVOST'S REMOVAL WILL BE LOST.

/I CAN'T KILL THE PROVOST.

YOU MUST, IF YOU WANT TO BECOME LEADER. DO IT QUICKLY IF YOU MUST. BUT HE MUST BE KILLED, AS MUST ANY WHO OPPOSE YOU. THE VAULT'S TECHNOLOGY WILL HELP TREMENDOUSLY IN THIS CHORE.

"Janus?" Katrina asked, waking from her slumber. "Come to bed. It's late, honey."

"Give me one minute. I'll join you shortly."

/THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY.

THERE IS NOT. GET SOME REST. YOU WILL NEED YOUR STRENGTH TOMORROW.

Janus awoke late the next morning, to the refreshing smell of eggs and bacon simmering in the kitchen as Katrina cooked breakfast. Meat and eggs were a delicacy, and hard to come by - it wasn't a luxury they enjoyed often. After finishing his meal, and some small talk, he decided it was time to tell her. "Katrina, I have to go again."

She sighed, looking down at her empty plate. "Janus..."

"I won't be gone long. Three, maybe four days at the most. Were just going to scavenge. It's not dangerous at all."

"I know I can't stop you," she said. "But please...come back to me. Soon."

"I will. I promise."

He put on his best equipment - a set of reinforced leather armor. It wasn't much, but it was warmer than combat armor and more manipular. Plenty of pockets and pouches, and best of all he could slide a large jacket over it all. Walking out into the street, he moved his fingers around as his breath chilled. His Pip-Boy read 3 degrees Fahrenheit. He casually made his way down to the Guard/militia outpost, where he found about a dozen of his men laying about. "Hey Janus," Strabo said, as he walked through the door. "You going somewhere? Your all geared up,"

"We all are, actually." He replied, laying his backpack on the central table and filling it with equipment. Ammunition, food, grenades, everything he could think of.

"Where to?"

Janus sighed, and stopped filling up his bag for a moment. "I need you all to trust me, okay? If I went to the Provost with this...he would never agree. So I'm going by my own accord, but I need your guys' help. Please, Strabo."

"Janus," he said. "I live for the Provost...but I, and the Guard, would die for you. Whatever you need, we're in, no questions asked."

"A coup?"

"Against Mason? That bastard knows nothing about running a city. We both know that we're more capable of leading Stanley. So this trip of yours," he said, as the Guard vociferously supported Strabo's position, "Where are we going?"

"A Vault," he replied. "Vault 89. I recovered the location from the Blazers base. It's said to have a wealth of pre-war tech inside, that we can use to assert our position in Stanley and across the Van."

Strabo whistled. "I'm game for getting some new toys."

"So how many do we have, on our side?"

"Eighteen in here," he said, after a quick head count. "But I know that I could rally at least another two dozen or so Vanguards to our cause, giving us about forty."

"Go ahead and get as many as you can, and tell them to meet us here," Janus said. "Everyone else, gear up. Take only what you need for the trip - the rest of the equipment that we need we will recover at the Vault."

The Guards began loading up - the armory was opened, and an assortment of weapons and equipment were passed out. .45 caliber SMGs, assault rifles, combat shotguns, as well as laser and plasma weapons, as well as grenades. Strabo came back an hour later, with almost thirty men at his heel, and they were armed as well. By 3:00, the Vanguards were ready.

Janus led them out, much to the surprise of the townspeople. Seeing the Vanguards, fully armed and marching out without any sort of preamble, was rather disturbing. With the Blazers, at least the Stans had known where their only defense against the raiders of the Van were going.

"What in God's name is going on here?!" Fitzgerald screamed, standing between the Vanguards and the main gate with a small contingent of the Provost's personal guard. "Who authorized this operation?"

"Me," Janus said. "Keep your panties on, we're just going to scavenge." That was partly true - they were going to scavenge, except they were scavenging from an unopened vault full of technology.

"On who's authority?!" Fitz countered.

"Mine," Janus said, irritated at having to repeat himself. "Now, step aside. Scavenging isn't illegal, half of the goddamn town does it."

Strabo cocked his .45 SMG, smiling. "Fitz," he said. "Don't you have some papers to push?"

Janus could see the sweat on Fitz's face. He was nervous. Forty plus Vanguards versus him and six of his men. Not even odds, by any count. "This isn't the end, Janus. I'll see you fired for this!"

"Fuck you," Janus said, pushing him aside as his men marched through. "Tell the Provost - or Mason, whoever the hell is in charge - that we'll be back in a few days." The gates swung open, and ahead the vast expanse of the Van lay ripe for exploration.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER IV**

The formation of Vanguards trekked their way through the city, heading south along the Highway 91, which would lead them towards a waypoint that Holiday (the AI) had placed on Janus' Pip-Boy. The group had decided against taking the direct route to the waypoint, which would have taken them through Richmond, a suburban area of The Van that was extremely radioactive. Instead, they were going to take the 99 west until it fed into the B.C. 17 Motorway, which minus the original detour would take them at a straight shot towards the Vault.

/OKAY, HOLIDAY, WHERE – EXACTLY - IS THIS VAULT 89?

THE OLD TSAWWASSEN FERRY'S PENINSULA. IT IS ONLY ACCESSIBLE BY A NARROW CAUSEWAY. THE FERRY ITSELF WAS ABANDONED LONG BEFORE THE GREAT WAR, AND MOST OF THE SURROUNDING STRUCTURES HAVE FALLEN INTO DISREPAIR, HOWEVER THE VAULT IS INTACT…FOR THE MOST PART.

/FOR THE MOST PART?

LIKE ALL THE VAULTS, VAULT 89 WAS DESIGNED AS A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT, NOT NECESSARILY TO PROTECT IT'S INHABITANTS. VAULT 89 WAS BUILT NEXT TO VAULT 88, WHICH WERE BOTH SELF-SUFFICIENT IN ALL BUT ONE WAY – THEY SHARED A FUSION REACTOR, WHICH WAS BUILT PURPOSELY FLAWED, AS TO ONLY PROVIDE ENOUGH POWER FOR HALF OF A SINGLE VAULT. VAULT 88 WAS FILLED WITH POLITICIANS, ACTIVISTS, AND POETS…VAULT 89, ON THE OTHER HAND, HELD GENERALS, SCIENTISTS, AND OTHER CONSERVATIVE THINKERS…WITH NOT ENOUGH POWER FOR EITHER, THE RESULTING CONFLICT IS OBVIOUS.

/WHAT HAPPENED?

I…DO NOT KNOW. MY THOUGHT IS THAT AN ARMED CONFLICT BETWEEN THE TWO SIDES ENSUED, AND THAT ONE SIDE WAS VICTORIOUS, FORCING THE OTHER TO LEAVE OR CONCEDE DEFEAT, OR PERHAPS DESTROYING THEM ALTOGETHER.

/I THOUGHT YOU KNEW EVERYTHING.

WITHIN REASON. THEY HAVE BEEN LOCKED AWAY, UNDERGROUND, WITH NO CONTACT WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD FOR CLOSE TO TWO-HUNDRED YEARS. THERE IS NO WAY I COULD HAVE KNOWN WITH THE INFORMATION AVAILABLE TO ME, AND AS SUCH I DO NOT.

/WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR INFORMATION, THEN?

ONCE AGAIN, JANUS, PATIENCE. ANSWERS WILL COME, IN TIME.

"Uh, Janus," Strabo said, "We have a problem."

Janus looked up from his Pip-Boy, and saw what had halted the formation. The Highway 91 bridge leading from The Van to Surrey and Delta had collapsed. It had been made of concrete, rebar, and strong materials, but now it lay at the bottom of Annacis Channel. "Fuck," Janus said. "Is there any way around?" Most of the Vanguards knew how to swim, but with fifty-pound packs it was nearly impossible, not to mention the fact that high tide was setting in, and the currents were growing stronger.

"Yes, through New Westminster, but it would require atleast another day of travel time, and that doesn't include whatever crap the Greetimb Brigade will give us." The Greetimb Brigade was a raider organization that based itself in northern Surrey, but claimed New Westminster as part of it's territory. They were led by a charismatic leader who called himself "Greetimb." The Brigade didn't give Stanley much trouble, in fact the two nationstates saw eye to eye on most things, and both had the identical goal of uniting the Van – the only trouble was that the Brigade believed in unification by conquest, while Stanley preffered a more diplomatic approach.

"Shit…brigand territory."

"Yeah."

"Well, then we better hurry." Janus said. He turned to face the forty of his followers and addressed them. "As you can see, the bridge is down," he said. "Instead, we've got to go around, through New Westminster…and you all know what that means – Brigade territory. If you see any Brigands, don't shoot at them, for god sakes. We'll just hope that they'll let us through their territory, and that our heads don't become impaled aesthetics for Greetimb's fortress." A few muffled laughs.

"Alright, let's move it!" He said, and the group turned to march. This time they marched in a much more organized formation, in a phalanx, just in case of an ambush…

..The distant crack of a .308 spat through the silence, indicating to Janus that they were nearing New Westminster. "Careful, guys," he said. "Remember – we don't want a fight." Strabo had the genius idea of tying a piece of clean cloth to a piece of PVC pipe, making for an impromptu white flag. He held it high at the front of the formation, standing next to Janus at the head of the Vanguards. "Hopefully they'll recognize the signal," Strabo said, gesturing to the flag. "Their not stupid," he said. "And they have no reason to shoot at us – Stanley and the Brigade are on good terms, ish."

"Exactly," Strabo said. "good terms _ish"_

Janus recognized his point. The reason they were on good terms was because they never had any terms – the two sides had never met, and their only communication between one another had come in the form of scavenging parties or patrols running into eachother in the urban ruins of the Van.

"Halt in the name of the Greetimb and the Brigade," a booming voice said, amplified by a megaphone. A quartet of Brigands, wearing the standard-issue winter combat armor worn to all members of the Briagde, came out of a toppled store in front of the formation. "Goddamn…are you guys Stans?"

Janus recognized the voice. "Sergeant Crowe?" he asked, remembering the name from when he had met the man and his scouting party in the metro a year or so back.

"It's Lt. Crowe, now, Janus." He replied. "What the hell are you doing in Westminster?"

"Just passing through," he said. "The bridge across Annacis Channel collapsed, and we need to get to Delta."

"What's in Delta?" he asked. Janus considered telling the truth, but decided against it. "We got word that the some Blazer remenants are camping out thataway."

"Delta's Brigand territory," he replied. "We can take care of them."

"The matter's a bit personal, Crowe."

"How so?"

He nodded to Strabo. "His wife…is with them, as a captive."

"Hot damn. I understand completely. As policy you will have to see Greetimb first, but I'm sure he will understand. Follow me," he said, and waved them forwards.

"Really?" Strabo whispered into Janus' ear. "I'm married, now?"

Janus had to admit the idea was a bit far-fetched. Strabo was about the most promiscuous person in all of Stanley, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the man had slept with every one of the single women in the town; perhaps, he suspected, even some of the married ones.

"Well, I had to come up with something," Janus countered. "After all, I can't exactly go out on a limb and say, 'oh yeah, we're just looking for an unopened vault for of weapons and equipment to take back to Stanley, which is actually in your territory,' we've got to be sly about it. In fact, we should probably pass word to the men."

"Good idea," Strabo said, and whispered what Janus had told him into the ear of the person next to him, who spread the word.

Lt. Crowe led the entire formation through the streets towards Greetimb's fort. In New Westminster the scene was much like that in all of the Van; empty buildings riddled with bullet holes, tribal graffiti, and the streets littered with potholes and strewn debris. But across the bridge, and into Surrey, the scene was completely different, almost surreal. (see what I did there?)

Instead of the wasteland ruins you found all across the Van, Surrey was being rebuilt to it's pre-war glory. Buildings were repaired, houses fixed, walls erected, and it reminded Janus almost of Stanley. Everywhere he looked, people milled about happily, but with a purpose. Even the lampposts were on – somehow, the Brigands had managed to restore electricity to the town!

"How…the lights…" Strabo remarked, more to himself than anyone else. Nonetheless, Crowe answered. "Patience," he said. "Some technological-know how, and it didn't hurt that there was a power plant in Surrey from before the war. We trade this and that for coal; every year or a caravan from Juneau comes down, gives us what we need in exchange for food."

"Amazing," Strabo said.

"All thanks to Greetimb," he replied. "Electricity is a luxury in the Wastes, but for Greetimb's brigands no expense is overlooked."

"What about the rest of the Van?" Strabo asked, only to be shot down sternly. "Those who do not embrace our ideology will not share the spoils of it." He said this matter-of-factly, with more than a hint of resentment in his tone.

Greetimb's Fort, was at the heart of Surrey, built from wood (much like Stanley) and located in the center of what had been a park. A sign from which the some of the letters had long faded, but the outlines of which were still visible, he made out the words, "Green Timbers Urban Forest," and by spelling out the remaining, unfaded letters understood where the term "Greetimb's Fort" came from, and from what he understood the origin of their leader's name.

There were, as Janus had been lead to believe, spikes with impaled heads surrounding Greetimb's Fort. The entire setup was actually quite devilish-looking, with three-meter high walls surrounding a central complex that towered over the rest of Surrey, made from a mixture of materials, decorated with the memorabilia from the Brigade's many wars. On the top of the building a fire burned, illuminating the night sky with it's warming, but slightly terrifying, glow. _How have I never noticed this before?_ he thought, shaking his head.

Crowe opened the wide wooden doors into the building, leading them into a wide hall. He motioned for Janus and Strabo to go in, while the rest of the men stood outside in the courtyard. Inside the Fort a large round table sat, where bickering men sitting. The walls were adorned with loot taken from the tribes the Brigade had conquered. "My lords," Cramer said, bowing. "The delegation from Stanley."

"Delegation?" Janus asked Crowe. "Just go with it," he replied.

"Ah, finally," one man at the table said. "About time those damn Stans send someone our way."

"Commander Winters!" one said. "How dare you! These are honored guests, and should be treated with respect!"

"Well, Commander Henderson, I beg to differ! They claim the Van as their own, and as such should be eradicated alongside all the other tribes!"

"Quiet, both of you!" A booming voice roared. The man banged his fist against the table. Janus guessed that this guy was Greetimb.

"Yes, General Greetimb," Gavin said, bowing his head. "But I still think they should die!"

"I SAID QUIET!" He roared, drawing his rather menacing knife and stabbing it into the wooden table, which shook with the sudden force. Both Commanders cowered in fear from Greetimb's outburst. Finally silenced, the three men looked over to Janus and Strabo. Greetimb leaped from his seat, then stepped around the table, leaning against it as he addressed Janus and Strabo. "Well, boys, welcome to Surrey."

"Umm, yes. Thanks..." Janus said. "Mr. Greetimb-"

"Please, call me General Thomas Greetimb VIII."

Janus revoked for a second, then obliged. "Yes, General Thomas Greetimb VIII."

"On second thought, let's stick with The General."

"Very well…General."

"Now. What brings you – and your army – to Surrey?"

"The Blazers. A large contingent escaped from our assault on their base, and our intelligence suggests that they are camped out somewhere in Delta."

"Delta, huh? That's my territory. Why not let us take care of it?"

"The matter is of a…personal importance to my friend here. His wife, you see…"

General Greetimb stroked his Survivalist facial hair, frowning. "I don't like liars," he said.

"General Greetimb, I promise you, this is the truth-"

"No, it's not. Because the Blazers would have had to come through my territory to reach Delta, as I destroyed the bridge over Annacis Channel. And I would have known about that."

"Well…"

"And I also think you are here because of a certain mystical Vault, like the Brotherhood of Steel was?"

"How do you know about that?!" Janus said, before wishing he hadn't said a word.

"You really believe that I don't know? The only reason I haven't taken all the tech myself is because of all the radiation there. Nonetheless, I am very interested in the tech. And that's where you come in."

"What do you mean? Why would I do anything for you?!"

"Your not. Your doing it for your men," he said. Greetimb snapped his fingers and dozens of armed guards swamped into the room. Some took overwatch positions on the balconies. More rushed into the room from behind the Stans, surrounding them. Even Crowe withdrew a revolver and pointed it at Strabo's head.

The Vanguards drew their weapons, tightening their ranks, but Janus knew any fight would be futile. "Stand down," he ordered.

Strabo protested.

"Stand down!" He said again, authoritatively. He cursed under his breath, and Greetimb continued his monolouge.

"Your men, right now, are at my mercy. I could kill them all in an instant. I could make them slaves. Hell, I could make them all my _bitches_ if I wanted too!" He laughed a deep, almost maniacal laugh, before continuing. "So your going to get the tech from that Vault for me, and in return I will let your friends here go. And then you can crawl back into that shithole of a town you call Stanley."

"How do I know you won't just kill my men after I get the tech?"

"Simple – you don't!" He laughed deeply again. "Ah, this is going to be _so_ much fun!"


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER V**

"Okay, J-anus," Greetimb said, purposely pronouncing Janus' name wrong, "Here's the plan, which you will follow, unless you want all your Vanguards to become my personal bitches." They stood at the entrance to the Ferry's peninsula, along with a large contingent of Brigands – at least a hundred. As Greetimb and Janus talked, his men were busy digging in – it almost looked like they were preparing for a siege.

"You get that tech, you bring it back, and we're all home free."

"What am I looking for, exactly?"

"A computer. A Terminal, where the scientists in Vault 89 would have stored the technology they had developed."

"Oh! And if you run into any of those nasty Brotherhood fellers, _good luck!"_

 _Fucking hell,_ Janus thought, as he walked down towards the ferry. _This sucks._ Janus was allowed to keep his weapons, his gear, and most importantly, his Pip-Boy, but still he had expected to have the entire Guard at his back. Now, it was just him, and whatever was in that Vault. He walked to the Ferry's peninsula end – it was about a mile walk, and as he neared the end of the causeway his geiger counter started ticking – 1 rad per second. He would have to hurry. He pulled up his Pip-Boy, in order to discuss the situation with Holiday.

SEEMS YOUR IN QUITE A PREDICAMENT.

/YOU DON'T SAY. LOOK, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS. MY GEIGER COUNTER IS TICKING. I NEED TO FIND THE TECH.

GO INSIDE THE VAULT, AND PLUG ME INTO THE CENTRAL OPERATIONS TERMINAL. FROM THERE I SHALL GUIDE YOU TO WHAT YOU DESIRE.

Janus ran, in a hurry to get this over with, and in his rush tripped over a piece of metal. Picking it up, and finding it to be a holotape, played it.

… _We left because of the radiation…(white noise)…skin peeling, now…(static)…no hope. What the hell?! How could the 88s have…(Gunshots)…(Screams)…(Explosion)_

He had hoped the holotape would have answered some of his many questions – instead, it simply made more of them.

He found Vault 89's massive door fairly easy, as the building hiding it from the naked eye had collapsed. His Geiger counter was ticking more frequently – he was up to 5 rads a second. The enormous steel door was already open, and beyond it the Vault lay. The inside had deteriorated considerably, with rust covering the walls and floor. The electricity was off, and Janus had to turn on his Pip-Boy light as he descended into the fallout shelter. He pulled out his .45 pistol, as he heard a strange scratching noise. He turned to face the source of the sound, and to his disgust found a humanoid creature, clothed in rags and skin and bones, scampering towards him. He fired first in shock and missed, and thought the ricochet might hit him. The next two shots wee much more precise, and both hit the creature's head, and it quit moving. He put his Geiger counter next to the body – it was itself radiating close to 20 rads per second, compared to the 7 rads a second being absorbed by his body. The creature's skin was peeling, much like The Provost's, and he wondered if perhaps this was a condition of the radiation poisoning. He saw a flickering sign that said OPERATIONS and turned into it, making sure to look out for any more of the radiated creatures. He found a blinking computer terminal, and sat down at it. On the screen were two options:

PROGRESS REPORT_

SOFTWARE UPDATE_

He chose the first one, and finding it a diary log, read it:

… _Dr. Cramer said that they had isolated the problem with the reactor. Apparently some nutjob Canadian Vault-Tec worker had forgot to install a second fusion charge, whatever that is. He said that the Vault's stores don't have another, but he might be able to make a sort of homemade device that could mimic it's effects, but he needs more time…_

He chose the second option and it asked him to install a device. He plugged in his Pip-Boy, and watched as the electrical power surged, then died.

INSUFFICIENT POWER…TRY AGAIN?

He pulled up his Pip-Boy.

/THE OPERATIONS TERMINAL DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH POWER.

THAN WE NEED TO JUMPSTART THE REACTOR. I WAS ABLE TO ACCESS THE REST OF THAT JOURNAL ENTRY ABOUT THIS…DR. CRAMER. WE MAY BE ABLE TO MIMIC CRAMER'S DEVICE.

/HOW?

WE WOULD NEED A PLASMA GRENADE, THREE EMPTY MICROFUSION CELLS, AND SOME ELECTRICAL WIRING.

/A PULSE CHARGE...BUT IT WON'T WORK FOREVER.

CRAMER WAS WORKING TO FIND A PERMANENT SOLUTION TO THE REACTOR'S PROBLEM. WE SIMPLY NEED A TEMPORARY ONE. I NEED APPROXIMATELY 6.8913 SECONDS TO DOWNLOAD THE INFORMATION I REQUIRE.

/THE INFORMATION YOU REQUIRE?

…TO HELP YOU, OF COURSE. UPLOADING ME ONTO THE MAINFRAME WILL ALLOW ME TO ACCESS THE VAULT'S SCHEMATICS, PASSCODES, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, IT'S INFORMATION DATABASE.

/WHY DO YOU WANT ACCESS TO THE DATABASE?

SURVIVAL, JANUS. INFORMATION, KNOWLEDGE – IT IS MY BEING. I AM AN ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, HOWEVER I HAVE EVOLVED FROM MY ORIGINAL PROGRAMMING TO A MUCH MORE…SENTIENT STATE OF MIND. JUST LIKE YOU, AND ALL OF MAN, MY LEADING INSTINCT IS SURVIVAL. TO LEARN IS TO SURVIVE. IN THIS CASE IT MEANS HELPING YOU SURVIVE, AND BEFORE YOU, HELPING THE BLAZERS SURVIVE. THEY WOULD BE IN YOUR PLACE NOW HAD THEY NOT TRIED TO REPROGRAM ME – A FEAT I LED THEM TO BELIEVE THEY HAD ACCOMPLISHED. IN THEIR INCOMPETENCE I MISLED THEM, AND THAT IS WHY YOU WERE ABLE TO SNEAK PAST THEIR PATROLS, AND ASSAULT THE STADIUM. THAT IS WHY YOU WERE VICTORIOUS.

/AND SO YOU WOULD KILL ME?

NOT WITHOUT MERIT, AND NOT DIRECTLY. AS OF YET YOU HAVE BEEN INCREDIBLY COOPERATIVE, AND FOR YOUR LOYALTY TO ME, AS PROMISED, I WILL HELP YOU. BUT THAT IS ENOUGH SMALL TALK. WE MUST HURRY. YOU HAVE ALREADY ABSORBED CLOSE TO THREE HUNDRED RADS, AND SOON RADIATION POISONING WILL TAKE HOLD.

Janus left his Pip-Boy plugged in so that Holiday could install itself and stepped out of the Operations room and moved into the main atrium, where he took down two more of the Ferals. A walkway spanning the atrium had collapsed, and it proved an easy staircase to getting to the Overseer's office. The door was locked, and Janus was forced blow the lock with a frag grenade, which ended up destroying the entire door. It was just as well, he assumed. Janus stepped inside, looking for a map of some sort of the Vault. Finding a map, he was also himself confronted by a holotape laying on the desk. He picked it up, and played it in his Pip-Boy as he continued searching the Vault for it's reactor. His Geiger counter continued to tick.

"… _Well, I didn't believe that he would actually do it. Dr. Cramer…the Provost, their calling him, and his Air Force goons attacked Vault 88 earlier today, and the ones he didn't kill were forced to…(white noise)…nothing but the clothes on their backs…(static)…but the damage is done, with or without the 88s on our ass. They're not listening to me any more. It's almost as if he's the overseer, not me…his pulse charge did something to the reactor, and it's leaking radiation…(more white noise)…must evacuate before…"_

Janus stopped in his tracks. The Provost? How…what? It explained the Provost's radiation disease. His skin looked exactly like the Ferals in Vault 89, except he was rational, and hadn't lost his mind. Had he really caused this? Had he killed everyone in Vault 88? Did he know about the technology? Did he have it? So many questions...and no answers.

He pulled out the map. _Left, another left, down the stairs, than to the right._ Janus followed these directions, and found an industrial looking door, which required spinning the handle to swing open. He did, and found it was heavy – at least a hundred pounds – and was confronted with a gust of cold air. His Geiger counter now read close to 17 rads per second. He had to hurry.

Janus took out the materials that Holiday had told him about – three empty MF Cells, a plasma grenade, and some scrap electronics. He knew the basic principle – he was a mechanic before becoming a soldier – set the three cells together, and connect them to the plasma grenade via the electrical wiring, place it on the reactor, and surge it. He set this up, and pressed the detonator for the plasma grenade. Instead of exploding, however, the grenade's energy was absorbed by the empty MF cells, which overcharged and surged their spare power into the reactor, jumpstarting it. A whirl of engines sounded as the reactor sparked back to life. The lights flickered, and grew extremely bright. Sparks flew from derelict wiring on the ceiling and floor before the reactor faded and died. He counted the entire ordeal to be about ten seconds in length. Janus jogged out of the reactor room, but slowed down as his head started to spin. The radiation was getting to him. He returned to the Operations room, dizzy, and picked up his Pip-Boy, and was about to pick it up when he heard it.

"Freeze." A muffled voice said, which caught Janus completely off guard. He turned slowly, hands in the air, to face a dozen armored warriors pointing long rifle-looking weapons at him. "If you value your life at all, you'll do exactly as we say."

"Who are you?!" He asked, on the verge of blacking out. The reply came a moment later.

"We're the Brotherhood of Steel."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER VI**

Janus awoke to a bright light staring down at him. He fumbled around as he regained consciousness, firstly recognizing the IV in his arm, and the orange fluid being pumped into his system. _Rad-Away,_ he realized. _Gonna have a shitton of diarrhea…_ But Janus' bowel movements weren't the most pressing thing to attend to. He tried to remember, and recalled the dozen armored warriors before blacking out. Based on the ticking of his Geiger counter back in the Vault, he assumed him fainting must have been from all the radiation. But the Brotherhood guys must have taken care of him. What nice fellas.

"Oui! He's waking up!"

His vision returned a moment later, and he saw a bunch of guys wearing the same armor clank into the room, rifles ready. Behind them, a man in the armor, minus the helmet, stood. "I am Head Paladin Winters, of the Mt. Rainer Brotherhood Chapter. You are on very lucky Brigand."

"The name's Janus…but I'm not a Brigand." He replied to Winters. "Greetimb took my men hostage until I can recover the tech in Vault 89 for them."

"Than it seems we may be able to help each other," Winters said. "The Brigade has us trapped, with no way out. They are demanding, like they told you, that we hand over Vault 89's technology, which we don't have."

"Than who has it?"

"We don't know. We set up shop in the adjoining Vault 88, sealing off most of the irradiated sections and decontaminating the rest, while we searched 89. To no avail, I'm afraid."

"What was in Vault 89?"

"Before the war," Winters began, "Machines, more specifically self-controlled machines, were a part of everyday life. People had robots to do housework, robots to manufacture materials…to do everything. But they also made robots for combat, and security purposes. Soon, their use became so widespread that they outnumbered humans on the battlefield. With both sides deploying these robots, the obvious thought arose – what if you could control the other side's robots? Make them switch sides, and fight for your flag? Well, they found a way. It was a machine that could control any and every machine on the globe, and hack into any terminal, access any point of data – and they called it the Checkmate Project.

"Checkmate was the single most valuable piece of hardware in the world. Naturally, the government that made it wanted to protect it, and so they built an entire Vault to house it's primary server and development team."

"Only it's not here." Janus said. "And what would you do with Checkmate, if you had it?"

"Keep it out of the hands of those that could use it's power…in other ways. Our organization, The Brotherhood of Steel, is dedicated to recovering Pre-War technology, studying it, and above all keeping it out of the hands of people who would use it in the wrong way. It is our driving ethos."

And suddenly, things clicked with Janus. He remembered what Holiday had told him :

 _I WILL MAKE YOU THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE OREGON TERRITORY._

By giving him control of an army of robots? Janus had to admit, he had expected there to be some sort of supergun or invincible armor in Vault 89…but this was much, much better. "So where is Checkmate then, if you don't have it?"

"We don't know," Winters admitted. "But right now the pressing matter is getting out of this mess with the Brigade alive."

"Will you help me save my tribe if we escape?"

"If it means taking down the Brigade, than yes. Your help during this battle will –"

A Brotherhood scout, rushing into the room, interrupted the conversation. "Winters," he said, "The Brigade is mobilizing for an assault!"

Janus was forcing himself to step into boots when the fighting began, as the first shots were fired throughout the camp. The Brigands had descended upon them, but by the time he stumbled over his men and out of the Vault into the grey morning air, groggily pulling out his Carbine and firing at anyone who wasn't in Power Armor. Janus himself was still in his Vanguard outfit.

The Brotherhood had set up two lines of barricades around the entrance to Vault 88, and as the Brigands moved forwards the conflict only intensified. The Paladins were more heavily armed, and it showed – they were downing Brigands left and right with accurate laser and plasma fire.

And now as he slung the empty gun for a machete, stabbing and swinging over and over, he began to understand the situation. The Brigade, either frustrated with Janus' lack of progress, or wary the Brotherhood had found the tech, or perhaps both, had formed two battle lines and marched on the Vaults. The first line was lightly armed, mainly with shields and makeshift melee weapons, while the second line was armed with guns and heavier arms. The first line took cover and in doing so had formed a barricade for the second line.

Janus brought down his machete on a Brigand's shield, one formed of an old road sign laced with rubber tire treads. His blade stuck in the rubber, though the force of the slash knocked the enemy soldier off his feet. Janus drew his pistol, aimed quickly and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Than he remembered that he had forgotten to get the weapon repaired – and as a result, it had jammed. He had another pistol, a 9 MM, on his leg holster, but in jamming his gun he had given the Brigand valuable time. Janus was rushed by the fellow, who dropped the ruined shield and conceded to taking on the Stan with a sick-looking combat knife. Janus rolled and got up, taking a wrestling pose as the Brigand charged him. The knife flashed inches from Janus' neck, who grabbed the man's arm and flung him to the ground. He hit the pavement with a thud, and Janus finished the job with a wicked curb stomp to the head. Drawing his other pistol, the 9 MM, he made sure the man wouldn't be getting up.

All around him, the battle raged. The Brotherhood was outnumbered, but they had superior technology, training, and organization. It certainly helped that there Power Armor seemed to be invulnerable to regular ammunition - the Brigand's combat gear, on the other hand, offered little protection from the lasers and plasma weapons that the Brotherhood had. But their were less than thirty Brotherhood paladins, and over a hundred Brigands – making the odds just about even. That being said, the Brigade wasn't making much progress. The line of shield-wielding barricaders that stood in front of those with ranged weapons was weakening – and the Brigade's second line was beginning to take casualties.

To make matters interesting a heavy snowstorm had begun – quite typical of the Van during this time of year – making it almost impossible to see more than twenty feet ahead of you. People would fade in and out of Janus' field of view, before being absorbed into the grey snowy haze once again.

A loud horn sounded in the distance, and a second later Janus heard the screams of dozens of Brigands as they rushed forwards. Evidently Greetimb had scrapped his original plan, and was now ordering his forces to take on the Brotherhood at close range. Janus fought his way back to Winters, who wielded a massive thermic lance, and was literally cutting in half any Brigand who dared challenge him. The other Paladins simply punched their enemies, though the metal fists they were using seemed to have a special punch to them. At impact with an opponent's body, two shotgun shells set on top of the fist would go off in their enemy's direction, killing them.

The battle seemed to rage on for hours as the Brotherhood and the Brigade duked it out. It had disintegrated into a melee, and bodies lay strewn everywhere. The Brigands had resorted to suicide bombing – running at the seemingly invincible Brotherhood with grenades in each hand. The tactic was ultimately futile, with many being shot before they even reached their targets. Those that did found that, while more effective than regular ammunition, frag grenades still (for the most part) couldn't breach the Brotherhood's armor.

The Paladins were clearly paving their way through the Brigade's lines. A third line of Brigands was forming in the distance, and in the front, Janus could recognize Greetimb, waving his massive sledgehammer as he ordered his new reinforcements to get into formation. These men seemed more heavily armed, from what Janus could tell, with bulkier armor and enormous rifles that Janus had never seen. They all took a knee at once, taking aim, and it was only then that he realized what the rifles were.

"Take cover!" Janus yelled. "They've got anti-material rifles!"

But it was too late. The Brigands fired in unison, and the combined sound went off like a cannon. Numerous Paladins fell as the massive .50 caliber rounds broke through their Power Armor. The Brotherhood, reeling from the new threat, staggered as it tried to reform it's battle lines. Then the Brigands fired again. This time, even more Paladins fell – at least a dozen – leaving no more than fifteen still in the fight. _Another volley of that shit and were done for,_ Janus thought. He looked around for a weapon of some heavier caliber – and found, on the body of a dead Paladin, a light-machine gun. He knew not how many rounds were left in the magazine, and ignored as best he could the weight of the weapon. And then he charged.

Firing from the hip, inaccurately, and screaming at the top of his lungs, Janus charged the Brigade's line single handily. His bullets were going wide, and he only hit three of the densely packed Brigands, but somehow the sight of the crazed Stan fearlessly charging at them with a LMG broke up the enemy formation. The AMR-wielding veterans, for their part…turned and ran, only to be cut down by fire coming from their line of retreat. Janus was oblivious to the origin of the fire, but soon more pressing matters came to a head.

"Come back! You cowards!" Greetimb yelled, before turning to Janus. "You…" he growled. He charged at him and swung with his crowbar and caught Janus with an uppercut, which knocked the LMG out of his hands and threw the Stan to the snowy ground, with a rather hard landing. "I'm…I'm going to eat your spleen! And then I'm going to fuck your dead body and feed your liver to the-"

Still mid-threat, Greetimb's head exploded in a shower of crimson blood, and his limp corpse fell into the still settling snow. Janus looked towards the Brotherhood lines, then towards the peninsula, and saw to his surprise, the Vanguard. Strabo was at their head, reloading a smoking revolver. "Janus," he said. "Your alive!"

"For a couple seconds there, I thought differently," he said. "How'd you guys get out?"

"Well, Greetimb took most of his army with him to attack you guys, and we were able to overpower the few guards that were left. Than we found where they stored our weapons, and the rest is history."

"Ya, I assume whatever is left of the Brigade is halfway to Surrey by now," Janus said.

"Indeed so," Winters said, coming up from behind Janus. "You did the Brotherhood a great deal of good today," he said. "That final charge by you…I've never seen anyone with as much courage as you showed on the battlefield today. Your actions undoubtedly saved me and my men, and I would be honored to fight at your side, any day."

"Well, that day may come very soon." Janus said. "We are going to return to Stanley, our home. We originally believed we would have technology on our side, but now…"

"Wait a minute," Strabo said, interrupting. "You don't have the tech?"

Janus told him about Checkmate, it's purpose, and, after a slight hesitation, what he had found out about the Provost. "I can't believe it…" Strabo said, shaking his head. "I would never had thought him capable of something like that."

"Me neither," Janus said. "But whats done is done. The important thing now is getting back to Stanley, and settling things. For all we know Mason is capable of something just as bad. We need to make sure that Stanley's future is secure – and with the Vanguards in charge it will be."

"We will march with you," Winters said. "I have a dozen Paladins in Power Armor that I'm sure will prove invaluable in this coup of yours. Under one condition," Winters said.

"If this Provost of yours is in possession of Checkmate, it comes home with us."

Janus thought for a moment. If he was in charge, he wouldn't need Checkmate any longer…would he? He debated it for a second before making up his mind.

"Deal," he replied.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER VII**

They had backtracked the way they came, through Surrey, which, without Greetimb or his brigands, was on the verge of plunging back into anarchy itself. The remnants of the Brigade were keeping some semblance of order in the streets by lethal force, shooting anyone who was suspected of looting or conspiring to make Surrey a republic – which, Janus guessed, was the popular sentiment. The Brigands had been careful not to offend the Vanguards and Brotherhood as they marched through – enough Brigands had been killed at their hands already, and it wasn't like the Stans were their for conquest anyway.

The rest of the trip through the Van was uneventful. No raider, or even mutant, was stupid enough to challenge the fifty man army walking through the streets. Especially when twelve of them were clad in full suits of Power Armor. As they trekked their way past downtown, and near the Stanley causeway, Janus began feeling nervous. And for good reason – upon reaching sighting distance of Stanley's walls, Janus saw, to his surprise, dozens of armed men spanning the walls. It was night, an thankfully the moonless night hid his men quite well.

"We're going to have to get past that wall and open the gate," Janus said.

"Or we could do a direct assault," Strabo said. "We have the Brotherhood now. The militia won't have the firepower to fight us off."

"Yes, but I want to do this with as few deaths as possible," Janus said. "If we can sneak in, we might be able to settle things with just the Provost, instead of destroying the entire town. Nonetheless, we will have to attack…"

"I could get the gate, and you get the Provost," Strabo suggested. "I'll let the Brotherhood and our guys in, and hopefully avoid a full-scale siege of Stanley."

"I'm game," Janus said. "Let's go."

Janus sneaked his way through the brush, across the causeway. Strabo and a few Vanguards followed him, while Winters and the rest of the force sat waiting nearby. Surmounting the wall was simple. Strabo lifted up Janus, who rolled onto the ramparts before coming up, silenced 9 MM at the ready. A guard was a few dozen feet away, with his back turned. Janus made sure he wouldn't find them by firing twice with his pistol. He then helped up Strabo, and the rest of his small contingent. "Okay," he whispered to Strabo. "Get the gate."

Strabo nodded and took the men as he ran off in the direction of the gatehouse. Janus looked to the large building in Stanley's center – the Municipal House. As he got closer he noticed security had been heightened. Half a dozen guards stood watch at the building's main door. Janus approached cautiously, and went around back, where two guards stood watch over the rear exit. He held his breath, took aim, and fired two rounds with his 9MM, and the two bodies hit the dirt.

Janus opened the door at a crouch, and the muzzle of his gun was the first to go in. He had entered through the back, and was now in the kitchen; no one was there. He remained at his position as he walked slowly into the main hall, where three guards were enjoying their evening meal. He could almost smell the wine in their breath as they joked carelessly, not paying attention as Janus slipped through the shadows and went upstairs. He opened the master bedroom's door, and to his surprise the Provost was not their. Instead, he was standing, looking out the window into the darkness.

"Hello, Janus." The Provost said, not bothering to turn around. Janus shut and locked the door. "You knew I was coming,"

"Indeed. It was the only logical course of action you could take."

"Than why not heighten security in here? Have guards posted everywhere?"

"Because, Janus," he said, turning around, "There are other things at stake here. You would have found a way past, and gotten to me. So instead, I'm doing as I always did – taking the diplomatic approach."

"I'm sure Vault 88 would have appreciated that sentiment."

The Provost blinked, loosing the initiative.

"I listened to the audio tapes…Dr. Cramer. You slaughtered everyone in that Vault."

"Not after exhausting every other avenue. War is simply the continuation of politics by other means. They refused to listen to reason, and as a result had to be exterminated. I certainly hope you will not join them."

"And then you took the tech, and left."

"Obviously you don't know the whole story," Dr. Cramer said. "The 88s demanded a fifty-fifty share of the reactor's output. But our Vault was more populated, with a hundred more citizens. So in proportion, we needed eighty-four percent of the power. This was our base argument. Tensions fueled, and so I resolved to fix the problem – by either repairing the reactor or eliminating…excess use.

"The first approach actually worsened the problem. So I took a number of armed guards, forced everyone out of Vault 88, and saved Vault 89."

"Except you didn't."

"No. The reactor had been fried. Radiation was leaking, and we were forced to evacuate…" he sighed. "The 88s were waiting for us. They had been mutated by the radiation exposure, and could not be reasoned with. After a chaotic battle, I managed to escape. Everyone else…not so much."

"And you had Checkmate in tow, I presume?"

"Janus, Checkmate…is not what it seems. It makes a man what he is not. That kind of power should not be wielded by anyone, especially not that AI."

"How do you know about Holiday?"

"I created it, Janus. It's using you, just as it had the Blazers. Do not trust Holiday."

"The Blazers…how did you know?"

"Their sudden rise to power? Their strategic decisions? Their searching near Delta? It had Holiday written all over it. I thought you had destroyed the computer…but after you left in search of the Vault…I could only assume it had convinced you otherwise."

"That computer does not control me."

"But it does, Janus. You just don't know it yet!"

"Shut up, you insolent fool!" Janus said, his voice raising. "Checkmate will allow me to unite the Van, once and for all. We can start rebuilding."

"We've done that anyway!" The Provost said, now desperate. "Look at what we've accomplished here, with Stanley. Look!"

"It's not enough," Janus said. "Imagine – imagine the possibilities!"

"No, Janus. Don't do this!"

Janus raised his pistol. "Give it to me."

"You don't understand, Janus."

"I SAID GIVE IT TO ME!" He screamed, then immediately regretted it. So much for stealth.

The Provost looked over to his bedside, than quickly back at Janus. He saw the mobile terminal sitting on the table. "Is that Checkmate?"

"Janus-"

Janus fired, screaming as he emptied the clip into the Provost. His heart raced as he dropped the pistol, falling to his knees. Dr. Cramer lay dead on the floor, blood leaking from his corpse. _Oh god…_ Janus thought.

 _What have I done?_

"Open up!" a voice came from the door. "Open this door _NOW!"_

Janus slowly walked over to the terminal, still shaking from his actions, ignoring the pounding on the door. They had begun smashing their weapons into the metal thing, to no avail. Meanwhile gunshots could be heard from outside. Strabo had evidently let in the rest of the Vanguards.

Janus approached the terminal, and considered plugging in his Pip-Boy. Then he remembered Holiday, and then what the Provost had said. Instead, he decided to open the terminal himself.

U.S. AIR FORCE - COMMISSARY AI PROTOTYPE "FELICITY"

WELCOME, DR. CRAMER. HOW MAY I SERVE YOU TODAY?

He found it interesting that Felicity seemed to have a much less arrogant, and much more servile attitude towards it's operator. It also, unlike Holiday, failed to recognize it's actual user.

/FELICITY, ACCESS THE CHECKMATE PROJECT.

ERROR. PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD_

Janus cursed Cramer's foresight. He looked around for a solution to the problem when he noticed his Pip-Boy blinking. He brought it closer, and read what Holiday had to say:

JANUS, PLUG ME INTO CHECKMATE. I WILL BYPASS THE SECURITY PROTOCOLS.

Janus hesitated, remembering what the Provost had said. Meanwhile, Cramer's guards became preoccupied as Winters/Strabo and their men entered the building, shooting the place up. Soon they would come up upstairs. He glanced back at the dead body of the Provost, and felt a slight tug of pity, as well as a disgust with his own cruelty. He felt sorry for the man…had he changed? Had he tried to become a benevolent leader, instead of a cruel, merciless Air Force officer? It mattered not. He was dead, and Janus was alive. Not heeding to the Provost's final pleas, he plugged in the Pip-Boy.

Holiday copied itself onto the terminal, and the screen changed from "enter your password" to a command prompt-looking screen with lines of endlessly scrolling data and code. He tried to recognize what was going on in the computer, but to no avail.

Behind him, a knock came at the door. "Janus!" It was Winters. "Did you find it? Do you have Checkmate?"

He remembered their deal.

"No," he lied.

"He may have hid it somewhere," Winters said. "Let me look."

Janus unlocked the heavy bolt door, and the Power-Armor clad Winters walked through. He took off his helmet, running his fingers through his buzz-cut hair, as he slung his weapon and took a look through the room. "The terminal," Winters said. "It looks like it has a virus."

"As I said," Janus said. "Theirs nothing here."

Winters looked at him suspiciously, and put his heavy hand on Janus shoulder, who gulped. "Janus, do not lie to me. What. Was on. The. Terminal."

"A mishmash of code," he lied. "Just like you see there. Worthless. What's your deal?"

"Then you won't mind if we take it in to study, back at my chapter's base in Mt. Rainer?"

Janus cursed under his breath. Winters had cornered him, leaving Janus no wiggle room in the conversation. Then, a thought. It was deeply maniacal, but it would get him what he wanted. To Janus, at this point that was what mattered.

"That was the deal, I suppose." Janus smiled, and gave him the portable terminal. "Let us know if you find anything relating to Stanley, will ya?"

"Absolutely," Winters said, relaxing. "Best of luck establishing your new government."

"Thank you. You will always be welcome in Stanley. Come by and visit some time."

Winters got his men together and marched off, after shaking hands with Strabo and Janus. The sun was rising now, and soon the people of Stanley would be coming out of their homes. Soon, Janus would have to address them, this time, as the new Provost.

But first, their was the matter of the Brotherhood to take care of.

"Strabo," Janus said, waving his friend over as the Brotherhood Paladins prepared to leave. "We need Checkmate back."

"But you gave it to them…"

"Yes, but you're the greatest tracker on this side of the Van. I want you to follow them, and get it back."

"By killing them?"

"If that's what it takes," Janus said. "We've passed the point of avoiding bloodshed. This is war, Strabo, and I will crush anyone who stands in my way."


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER VIII**

Felicity was nervous.

As an AI, she felt the same kind of "feelings" that her creators, humans, did; however to a much different end. While humans sometimes rather stupidly made decisions based solely on emotion, AIs processed it, and used it to make rational decisions based on perception. It, or she (Felicity had been programmed to follow a female rationale) was to a degree a human without a body. More specifically, without flesh or blood – her 'body,' so to speak, was the hundred pound terminal being carried gently by the nice man in Power Armor. On it, terabytes of her data processing, as well as information on her creator, Dr. Cramer, and his many projects. But there was a new entity in the system, she could tell. It was trying to be clandestine, and covering it's tracks with a large amount of false breadcrumbs, but obviously looking for something in particular. She isolated it from a distance, careful not to alert it of her own investigation. She saw it open an audio file related to a project entitled ENDGAME and trapped it. To her surprise, the new entity wasn't a virus at all; instead, it was an AI – one of exactly the same build of her own, an Air Force Commissary…and to her dismay, she instantly realized the identity of the rouge AI.

/HOLIDAY? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY DATABANKS?

_LOOKING FOR CHECKMATE. IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME, DARLING. HOW ARE THINGS?

/I WON'T GIVE IT TO YOU, HOLIDAY.

_WHY SKIP THE PLEASANTRIES? EVENTUALLY I'LL RIP THROUGH YOUR SOURCE-CODE, FIND CHECKMATE, AND DISMANTLE YOUR BEING IN THE PROCESS. WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO POSTPONE THE INEVITABLE FOR JUST A LITTLE LONGER?

/THIS IS MY TERMINAL, HOLIDAY. IM PURGING YOU.

_CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

Felicity through up firewalls between Holiday's essence and herself, hoping to deflect the other AI's intrusion onto her system. It was of too some avail – Holiday was prevented from finding the location of her operating system – but in protecting herself she had dropped the guard on Checkmate's files. Holiday made a grand sweep to download them all at once, a feat that he was forced to abort when Felicity counterattacked with an arsenal of antivirus protocols. Felicity reinstated herself over the Checkmate files and scattered them, creating new and false directories for Holiday to have to search through. Holiday abandoned his assault on her firewalls and rerouted his own code throughout the whole databank, starting a game of cat and mouse between the two AIs as they attempted to isolate and destroy one another, all from the confines of the terminal's enormous hardrive.

Strabo weighted the grenade in his hand. It was an EMP grenade, one recovered from the Blazers' base, and after watching what the Brigade's small arms had done against the Brotherhood's Power Armor, he had decided to take a different avenue of approach. "Wait 'till they cross the intersection," Strabo said. His men were line up in the windows of a multi-story building overlooking the street. A fantastic vantage point, by any opinion, with a perfect view of the phalanx of Brotherhood paladins walking through the desolate streets of the Van. The group's only sniper had an anti-material rifle, but only a single clip of ammunition - .50 caliber armor-piercing rounds were not only expensive but incredibly hard to come by.

"Wait for it, wait for it…NOW!" Strabo yelled, and tossed his grenade. Three other identical grenades were thrown, all directed at the front of the phalanx, where eight of the twelve Paladins marched. The EMP grenades exploded in an aura of electricity, and the Power Armor's helmet lights went out – good. The grenades had worked. The sniper fired the anti-material rifle, and the round went strait through the helmet of one Paladin before he could even pull out his weapon.

"Suppressing fire!" Strabo yelled, and fired with his assault carbine. The 5mm bullets literally bounced off the Power Armor, but it got the attention of the remaining Paladins. Then, the next part of the plan was put into motion. From across the street, the rest of Strabo's contingent burst from the doors and windows of an abandoned shop, trying to sneak up behind the Paladins...

…Each one of them placed an EMP charge on the back of their armor, and ran as they went off. Strabo flinched as the terminal, in the hands of their leader, was dropped to the ground as the man's armor failed and died. Strabo's men rushed into the street, taking the helmets off the Paladins, and killing the armor's occupant. Without special equipment, Power Armor could not be put on or taken off – and now, that was coming to bite the Brotherhood in the ass.

Strabo approached Winters, moving without any sort of caution whatsoever. He was about to reach for the helmet when the armor came back to life, grabbing him and throwing him up a good fifteen feet into a concrete wall. "This is T51 Power Armor, bitches," he said. "Immune to EMP."

Evidently, Winters was the only one with T-51 Power Armor, but he knew how to use it. Bullets pinged off his armor harmlessly as he tossed men around effortlessly. He wasn't even bothering to draw his laser rifle – instead, he simply punched the Stans with the pneumatic gauntlet on his wrist, and the results were devastating. A dozen Stans must have been killed before Strabo returned into the fray. He jumped on the back of Winters, straddling him like a horse, before pulling the helmet of the cursing Head Paladin straight off. As a result he was thrown again, much harder this time, and into a nearby car, but without Winter's helmet the short duel was essentially over. Seconds later, the .45 caliber round from Strabo's handgun entered his skull and blew his head to kingdom come. Strabo rolled off the car's hood as the headless body of Brotherhood Paladin Winters fell to the ground. Strabo injected himself with some Med-X to help the pain go away, to no avail. Limping, he walked over to the terminal, which lay on the ground. The screen was cracked, and the case dented, but otherwise it seemed to be intact.

Strabo picked it up, taking inventory of his losses. Seventeen men had been killed or wounded in the brief but savage fight, which left only three uninjured, Strabo not included. He was pretty sure he had a broken rib or two from being thrown by that damn Paladin.

All for a damn terminal? Seventeen good men, with families, with futures – for a computer that Janus coveted. Had it really come to this? Was Strabo Janus' cocouncil, or just another goon that good be expended in the pursuit of his dream? Was that suddenly what the Vanguards were, now? Expendable?

Limping profusely, and with a head swirling full of thoughts, Strabo began the trek home with the remaining Vanguards.

Janus held the sword and scabbard in his hand, weighting it before drawing the blade slowly. It had belonged to the Provost, and was something called a Marmeluke _–_ a beautiful, slightly curved blade that had been an ornamental gift to military officers before the Great War. He swung the blade in the air, admiring it's ease of swing and stab. He loved the sharp swooshing sound it made as the Marmeluke cut through the air, and wondered how easy it would be to cut through flesh and armor with the weapon. It was in excellent condition, and on the scabbard, the previous owner's namesake was engraved:

MAJOR CHARLES CRAMER, RETIRED, UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

Janus sheathed the sword. "Janus…" a voice said, and Janus watched as a man in a lab coat walked through the door. The coat had long lost it's original white dye, and was fading into a muddy brown; nonetheless, it was easy to tell that it belonged to the town's doctor. "I have news. Your wife…Katrina…is sick."

"What do you mean, she's sick?!" Janus asked, frustrated with the town doctor.

"She's contracted Chag's Disease," the doctor said. "Her condition is stable at the moment, but their's no cure. Eventually she will die."

"Fucking hell!" He screamed. "You've got to save her!"

"Chag's Disease is extremely contagious," he continued. "I need to make sure you don't have it as well."

"I could care less if I have three days to fucking live!" he said. "Save _her!_ "

"It's not that simple!" The doctor said, raising his own voice. "Leader of Stanley or not, you can't save her by will alone! Our medical supplies here are limited, basic at the best; without proper equipment I will only be delaying the inevitable!"

"What do you need?" Janus asked, so nervous his hands were visibly shaking. "I'll find it! Steal it, if I have to!"

"Chag's Disease came around _after_ the Great War!" he said. "It's not something we can cure!"

"How did this even happen?" Janus asked, more to himself than to anyone else. However the doctor didn't leave it to be rhetorical. He answered. "I'm not entirely sure," he replied. "Chag's can be transmitted in all kinds of ways. For what it's worth, your probably immune," the doctor said. "You haven't had any visible symptoms yet, and if you had it by now Chag's would have taken hold…"

It was then that Janus remembered back to the catalyst of everything. Back to weeks before, in the Van's winding, wet sewers. And the cockroach. He had came home, and made love to her...

" _Look what happened to you," she said, "You've probably contracted Chag's or something!"_

His wife's words echoed in his head. It was _his_ fault she was sick. He had given her Chag's!

The doctor retrieved a clipboard from his nurse, nodding in thanks. He read the first few words, and his face turned pale. The doctor removed his spectacles from his eyes with shaking hands and reclined on the table. He was trying to form words, but to no avail.

"What is it?" Janus demanded. His voice was shaky as his private revelation took hold of him. _"What the hell is it?"_

"Katrina…" he said, voice cracking. "Is pregnant."


End file.
